


Taken

by BookofLife



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, F/M, Falling In Love, Human Trafficking, Love Triangles, Partner Betrayal, Sex, Unrequited Love, Violence, more sex later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofLife/pseuds/BookofLife
Summary: (Based loosely on the movie Taken)Despite the breaks in their sibling relationship, Oliver Queen loves his sister dearly and there's nothing more anyone can really say. Then, after Thea leaves for week long holiday in France, the worst happens. Felicity Smoak - his beloved friend - and Laurel Lance - the woman he's secretly and shamefully sleeping with - find out just far he'd go for his kid sister...





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd deluded himself into thinking sex was love...

**Taken**

One

_Every moment I spend with Thea is a moment I’ll cherish forever._

_On the island… I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again. I didn’t know if I had the strength to survive. And if I did, what would she see when I returned home to her._

_But I did. I saw her again. And mom. So much has happened since I returned – and what they’d been through while I was away, what_ I’ve _been through… It left us in a kind of limbo state._

_Thea…_

_…For some reason I keep recalling how she looked on the day of her first dance recital; she’d been nine years old. It was compulsory for all the Queen’s to attend dance class to impress upon the upper echelons of Starling City Society. With the amount of galas and functions we were expected to attend, it sort of made sense. But we hadn’t been interested. Me and Thea. I remember trying to skip out each Friday evening but mom always caught me. She caught me until I became too old to catch and then she let me get away with murder. Thea didn’t mind being treated like the little princess she was. But the moment she realised it was all for show, all for the cameras, it became a burden. Her face had fallen, I remember that. And she lost that look; that innocent happiness that children seem to have. I’d have given anything to make that better for her. Those cute pigtails at the side of her head wilted and all I could do was hold her hand._

_I come home after five years and I meet a stranger._

_A stranger with a mind of her own - all wild and wilful - and a delinquent nature that I’d prayed she’d never inherit like I did. A stranger who’d hugged me like I was the only safe harbour in a storm, yet who argued like she was trying to win a competition. A young woman who was already kissing boys who thought they were men._ Sleeping _with boys who didn’t know how to give her the love she deserved. The love she requires. Someone who’d grown, who’d changed, who didn’t want me in her life the way I wanted to be in it, who didn’t understand me._

_I didn’t understand her._

_We’ve gotten better. Sort of. She talks to me now._

_I missed so much. There’s a gap between then and now that neither of us knows how to fill. Not that it matters. I’ll always love my sister. No matter what._

 

* * *

 

 

Sat at the bottom of the bed, bent forwards - his elbows on his knees -Oliver held his face in his hands. Drained.

Laurel was moving about him, quickly. Cleaning up any evidence of their rendezvous.

“Your wallet’s in the pocket of your jacket with your keys…” Trailing off, he heard – he still hadn’t moved to look at her – a shuffle as she shifted into her suit pants. “Same time tomorrow?”

_Same time tomorrow?_

The words were heavy on his shoulders; what were they even doing anymore? Did she know? He sure didn’t. Part of him couldn’t believe the question – that she’d asked it and that he was about to respond in kind and… he wanted to laugh. Cry a little.

They’d actually scheduled when to have sex.

Exhaling, he dragged his hands down the scruff at his jaw, still looking towards the floor. “Not tonight?”

“I…uh…” He heard her take a deep breath and he felt his stomach clench. This was what she did. What she continued to do. What they’d _agreed_ on, because he was an idiot. He didn’t know what _she_ was. “I’m seeing Tommy tonight.”

“…Right.”

Tommy.

Thomas Merlyn.

His best friend.

His best friend who loved Laurel Lance at least as much as he did. _More, probably_.

And yet… they were still fucking behind his back.

He rubbed his hands together and it sounded like sand on paper.

They weren’t dating, Oliver and Laurel. They didn’t hold hands or kiss in public and they didn’t meet in restaurants. However, Oliver had also known that – and she knew that he had since she’d told him – that she was seeing Tommy on the side; on and off.

They’d talked about it. About how he and she hadn’t wanted a relationship. Physically, they’d missed each other. So they’d stuck to sex. After a couple of weeks of this she’d confessed to him that Tommy had asked her out on a date.

She hadn’t turned him down.

 _“I don’t know what to do.”_ She’d whispered over the phone.

He’d got it, he’d understood. Wished he hadn’t but… Laurel was at a crossroads between the two men in her life. She had to make an impossible choice; choose the man who could openly love and treasure her or choose the one she professed to be the love of her life who didn’t have the capability or the time to give her what she needed. What she wanted. What she dreamed of.

After her date, she’d gone to bed with Tommy. And as his friend slept, she’d crept out; finding Oliver at the club.

He should have said no. Should have told her that they’d both changed, that the moment she’d said yes to Tommy meant that they were over and that he already knew she and Tommy had been sleeping together religiously during his five year absence. She’d told him that she needed to find out what was the right path, the right person - if he were willing. She’d needed to know who gave her the most clarity, who made her see stars, who made her feel safest. Who she loved most.

He’d said he couldn’t… until he _could_.

So, like there was no tomorrow, they’d screwed right there; on the table in his office. Quick and clean. Furious and, at the time, fervent.

Hollow.

During, he’d lost himself. Like anyone does when living a dream, or living a lie you wished was true so much you began to believe in it. The appeal of the secrecy, the want in her gaze and before she came (pun not intended) to the club, the fact that he’d been feeling unbearably lonely had pushed him towards her. Knowing Laurel and Tommy were on the kind of date he wasn’t allowed to have. When she’d showed up part of him almost begged right there and then for her not to leave him alone. As she spoke and asked the unthinkable he hadn’t cared that Tommy had just been inside of her, that they were sharing that space. Didn’t care that it would always be secret, that he and Laurel would forever be kept in the dark…

But after the fact?

He’d felt so unbelievably shit. Ashamed. The lowest of the low and he was, because only the worst kind of person could go behind his best friend’s back just so he could experience – briefly – how it felt to be with somebody who wanted you back.

_Laurel._

How could they do this to each other? Repeatedly?

It started out – for him – as a lover’s affair. But it was slowly becoming something that he _wanted_ to hide now, because it showed him his worst self. A perversion of what he’d hoped for. He’d loved Laurel since he was 17, back when love hadn’t travelled hand in hand with commitment and respect. It seemed it _still_ didn’t.

Wasn’t this the highest insult he could ever put upon Tommy? Screwing the woman they both love because none of them could choose?

“Laurel…” He began, quietly, but she interrupted.

“Don’t start this again Oliver.”

_Don’t start Oliver._

Slowly, he looked up at her. “Start what?”

Standing there in her bra and trousers, she sent him a look that said ‘ _please, really?’_ “You know what. I’m… I’m not ready.” She looked away, looked down. “I haven’t decided yet.”

_Then what about me? Don’t I get to decide?_

Obviously not.

But… he felt almost… done. Like he was getting over himself. Was starting to not care if the alternative was loneliness. He had enough lies to haunt him into an early grave; he had enough responsibility to be getting on with without worrying over keeping on the good side of the two people he’d known since childhood.

This was… _toxic_. And it ached at the core of him to admit.

It hadn’t done him any good. He hadn’t healed. Neither had she. He was starting to forget why they’d thought this was a good idea.

He’d returned, wanting so much for her to happy – to maybe be part of the reason why she could be – yet knowing that she had all the reason in the world to hate him.

For Sara.

It was the other part of this sad story.

Oliver had realised that, he and Laurel? They were doing exactly what he and Sara had done prior to his leaving on the Queen’s Gambit. Painful irony. They’d meet up in secret, have sex, and then return back to normalcy. Until the next time. A few texts here, a note there, but they never really talked.

 _We used to talk_. About the future. Now, whenever they spoke, whenever they took a few minutes to actually converse, it was always the past they ventured down on. They didn’t tell each other about their day.

He’d had feelings for two sisters and yet, all he’d managed to accomplish was a friends-with-benefits relationship with both of them.

_What a joke._

Maybe it was the best he could do, the best he could achieve.

And there was no romance to be found here. No love. No _making_ love.

Just sex. Screwing. Fucking. Shagging. Booty call. Getting laid. Banging. Fooling around.

Like idiots.

He’d thought… he’d thought it would mean more. _To her._

He’d wanted it to. Yes, _he’d_ put a ban on a relationship between them – because of the life that he led, he didn’t want her caught in the crossfire - but that didn’t stop him from wanting her to want it too. Didn’t stop him from wondering if there was even a remote possibility for a future between them.

Didn’t stop him wishing she’d have said ‘I choose you’ just now.

_Who else would ever want me?_

He was the vigilante; the Starling City terror. Receiving a moniker just a few months back – the Hood – he’d already waged war with half the criminal elite dominating Starling as a whole. It wasn’t the kind of life where he could even contemplate saying ‘I love you’ to a woman, never mind long term; getting on bended knee.

Dating a woman, any woman, would be a trial; a chore. And he didn’t want a shallow façade; something that could be printed in the papers. Laurel was the only woman he’d ever loved, in the truest sense of the word. He didn’t know anything else.

Didn’t know anything other than _disappointing_ her.

Didn’t know how to be with her in every sense, not just the physical.

Didn’t know how to make her stop seeing ‘Ollie’ instead of the man he’d become.

Didn’t know how she’d ever appreciate him as the Hood; a man who killed. Daily.

Didn’t know how to stop. Wanting. This.

He didn’t know _better_. This was the world that had left him behind. And the only way he fit into it anymore was like this. As a fuck buddy to the woman he – not so secretly – wants to have a real relationship with. As a man who constantly lies to everybody he cares for. As a man who didn’t deserve more. As a man destined to die in Starling’s underbelly.

Was it any wonder he allowed himself to fall back into her? Knowing that he’d be blamed and hated for it in the end? Wasn’t it easier this way?

Yet he still... wondered. Still wished.

Licking his lips, he spoke again. “Aren’t you… tired of this?”

Her shoulders tightened but she didn’t reply.

“Hiding.” He elaborated with eyes that begged for her to understand. “Sneaking around? Behaving in a way that I know you hate.” Because hadn’t that been what had hurt her the most? That he’d slept with her sister? And with others, when they’d been together?

That was the other thing. Why would she want even a _piece_ of him?

It was wishful thinking to imagine that Laurel would love him enough to be able to see past all that. He knew her well enough to know she didn’t work that way. And he’d been glad for this piece she’d granted him. For any modicum of trust from her.

He sighed but tensed, unsure if he could say the words yet. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Spoken in a rush, he felt more than heard her quick breath. “At first, I could. I could deal with it because it meant I got to be with you. Even if only for an hour.” They’d never stayed together for longer than that. “But, now you’re with Tommy…”

“I’m not really with Tommy, Oliver.”

“No… but you’re sleeping with _both_ of us.”

It was true, no matter how she took it; no matter how much it struck a nerve. Out of all of them, she was the most culpable. _He_ was pathetic; willing to settle for crumbs because it meant he had something. And he was morally challenged at best. But she was being cruel. Playing two men.

And he was letting her.

Her hands had made fists by the time his thoughts had quietened. “You didn’t seem to mind that night at your club.”

No, he’d minded a lot. He’d just done what he’d always done; hid it away like he did with any emotion he couldn’t face.

“I was lonely. It’s no excuse,” he’d been tired too; having argued again with Dig about his targets, having disappointed his mother and sister all in one day, “but it’s still a reason. I thought…” he shook his head with a smile he knew was sad. “I thought maybe you’d choose me.”

She blinked in silence, shocked. It was obvious that was the last thing she’d expected him to say. It told him _everything_.

And God, it _hurt_.

“I know I told you I couldn’t be in a relationship with you, so we both agreed on this. Yet, you didn’t seem to mind.” He’d wanted that; had needed her to make an objection, to show that she wanted more. Eyes flickering away, his expression told a story. “It hurt a lot more than I thought it would. It shouldn’t have hurt at all, but it did. It still does.”

“You… don’t want to be with me anymore?”

She sounded so small. And she’d completely missed the point.

His eyes met hers again and he softened. “Not like this.” It shouldn’t be like this.

She shook her head. “Then-”

“I’ve never felt lonelier than I have these past couple of months with you.”

He finally understood the term: ‘alone in a crowd’.

She was split in two; torn between men. And it wasn’t enough anymore. Laurel wasn’t fully present when she was with him. Half of her was with Tommy, some of her was with her job and the rest of her with him.

“Ollie…” Her words sounded wet. “I can’t give this up. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

Selfish.

He hated that he was secretly relieved, because he wasn’t ready either. Wasn’t ready to give up this connection. Hated that he was so desperate for even a taste of warmth that he asked, lowly:

“When tomorrow?”

Just one more time.

_I’m so done with being alone._

 

* * *

 

 

**Four Days Later…**

_My club days are definitely behind me_ , Oliver ruminated as he took in the sight before him. Half the mansion looked like a rainbow cupcake had thrown up in it. He knew what a rainbow cupcake looked like because Felicity had brought one to the Foundry the week before. _This_ rainbow cupcake had LED lights and a laser stage projector attached.

He’d stepped into his home and found a club.

Stiff shouldered – uncomfortable – he waded through what was already a sea of bodies, all writhing and thrusting into each other; all desperate to prove that being 18 meant they were now privileged to freely drink, smoke pot and have sex.

…Which only proved they were still children.

It didn’t matter – he’d been there, done that – and most people only realised how unimportant that all was after 10 years or so of making the same mistakes over and over and over again.

His eye caught the line of presents littering a four metre long table to the side, as a second DJ set up shop near the microphone stand; giving the sweaty teenagers a break from dancing. It went from deafening to completely silent, making Oliver’s ears pop. There were no banners indicting the cause of such a show but there wasn’t a soul in Starling who wouldn’t be able to guess that it was Thea Queen’s 18th birthday.

He found her before she found him, which was good, because he absolutely loathed how short her skirt was and it meant he had time to school his expression before she turned. 18 did not equal to _that_.

“Big brother! You’re here!” Planting a smile on his face as she rushed towards him, the crowd parting as she teetered on semi-shuffled steps - her shoes were roughly 3 inches high, the kind of high he’d only ever seen Felicity Smoak pull off with success - and she had him in a hug before he could say ‘happy birthday’.

For a moment he just allowed himself to enjoy it, the simple innocence of a bond between brother and sister; they hadn’t hugged since his return… but then she pulled away just as fast as she came and he caught the scent on her breath.

Tequila.

Completely unaware of how she’d destabilised him, his sister’s hands waved to the decorations in the main hall of the mansion and chirped, “Isn’t this _perfect_?” Voice loud, her eyes bright – like she was having the _best_ time – he noticed how dilated her pupils were.

The smile on his face started to strain: all he could think was that she’d _already_ had shots – by the flush of her cheeks and the glaze in her gaze, several - and it wasn’t even 10pm. _Please don’t tell me she’s dosing up on top of that?_ If so it would be the third time he’d found her, since his return, snorting up – or popping pills; thankfully, no needles – and that wasn’t counting his first morning back in the mansion when she’d tried to hide residue of the crushed remains of a powerful painkiller on her desk. “All my friends are here.” Yeah, her so-called friends who – from what he could see of them over her shoulder – all looked stoned off their asses.

One of those friends, Christina, was giving him a not-so-furtive once over and it was very apparent that she liked what she saw. _Jesus_.

But he let out a measured breath and merely replied with, “I’m glad for you Thea.”

This night was about _her_. Not _his_ feelings. For once he could hold back, could remain silent.

It had been almost five months since his return to Starling and though he hated it when Thea chose binge drinking and drug taking over movies and burgers, he wouldn’t begrudge her some normalcy. Not tonight.

It had been difficult in the beginning for her to accept that he was alive, that he’d returned home. That, yes, five years really had gone by.

He’d only recently come to understand how isolated she must have been in a household that forgot you existed and that his return must have been seen as an attempt to sweep everything she’d been through under a rug. Moira Queen had many faults and Oliver wouldn’t blame her for the way she’d handled her grief; losing her husband and her son on the same day must have been nightmarish. But locking herself in her room, leaving the care of her then 12 year old daughter in the hands of Raisa – their very capable maid/nanny – must have been doubly hard for his sister. At the same time, learning to not be so frustrated that he was stepping back into territory she claimed in his absence especially when he saw fit to chew her out on her less than modest and reputable behaviour - to bring her down a peg or two because he was her older brother by almost 10 years even though no one had chastised her for her unacceptable behaviour before - was a very long work in progress.

As was the process of her accepting that he wasn’t the brother she’d lost anymore, of her expecting the same from him, or anything of him at all. The arguments they’d had before Christmas… they’d tore at him. Being told that he was, basically, at the centre of everything wrong in her life, in Laurel’s life – even to an extent, Tommy’s life – had made it all the more difficult for him to visit her at the mansion. And that had only further upset her; that he’d _chosen_ to steer clear.

With his mission – absolving Starling’s 1% elite, striking one name at a time off his father’s list – there hadn’t been much chance to _be_ her brother. To be a _son_. A friend. A lover. A partner. To be a man and not a boy. To be more than what they’d been missing for five years.

To be _better_.

Be _kinder_.

Be… _acceptable_.

Rehab the bad boy, right?

Except there was no rehab for a killer, an assassin, a spy, a criminal and a Bratva Capitan.

The brown curls clipped high on Thea’s head danced when she giggled. “Mom wouldn’t allow any alcohol in but,” she leaned forward conspiratorially; flushed with success, “Tommy pulled through.”

 _Tommy._ What, had he brought in a keg? Like he used to do in their days at Sigma Kappa? _Thank you Tommy._

A scowl rippled momentarily across his face but he hid it just as fast – she was too drunk to notice anyway. And wasn’t that just… everything he needed right now? Especially since he was about to give her the gift his mother had asked him to present.

“Congratulations Miss Queen.” He added, brandishing a set of car keys in front of her face and feeling like he’d just given a serial killer a gun. Though his expression said ‘happy birthday sis’, his stomach dropped at the delight he saw. He’d just given his drunk sister car keys _. What was mom thinking?_ “It has a retractable roof.”

Squealing, Thea snatched the keys from him and gripped them like they were a lifeline. “Told you she’d cave.” She sang.

His mother always did. “You did.” He acknowledged, nodding once before asking, quietly. “Be careful?”

Thankfully she just smiled at him; the sweet, grateful smile she’d thrown at him the day he’d left on the Gambit. “Promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

That so-called promise had lasted exactly two hours and 37 minutes.

Shoulders sagged and hair ruffled – telling of how many times he’d ran a rough hand through it in an attempt to sublimate some of his tension; each attempt failed – he sat beside Thea’s hospital bed, taking in the butterfly stitches above her brow.

It was her _birthday_. He’d tried so hard to prevent anything negative from happening on her special day; but he hadn’t counted on her own self-destructive tendencies.

Oliver’s eyes were _expressive_. “What were you _thinking_ Thea?” He asked, voice hushed.

Yet visiting his sister in the hospital for drunk and disorderly behaviour on her birthday was almost the highlight of his week, which was a new low for him. And considering the kind of life he lived, that was saying something.

He’d spent the last three days taking down a human trafficker named George Ferris; a business man with a sick taste for 14 year old girls and a talent for turning them all into prostitutes. Leaving him no choice, when the man had used one of the girls as a shield, Oliver, as his vigilante alias, had sent an arrow through his carotid artery - _it had been a pleasure_ \- leading to the release of nine girls held captive in a shipping container. The memory of their terrified, gaunt expressions when he’d pried open the metal door would haunt his sleep for some time.

Then he’d fought with John Diggle over his _priorities_ ; after dealing with Ferris, he’d returned to the Foundry to find Diggle more than ready to have another go at convincing him that taking the time to deal with scum like this – on the daily – was _worth_ the time it would take. Time subtracted from his original mission; to honour his father.

It hadn’t ended well.

Finally, he’d argued with his mother regarding his utter and incredibly obvious lack of enthusiasm as the Queen heir and all it entailed: an instant position at QC as Vice President, an interest in their financial allies and a general face in the crowd at the Queen’s fundraisers and charity galas. He’d had to royally lay on the ‘playboy billionaire who doesn’t have two brain cells to offer’ persona to get away from her, much to her disappointment.

_Disappointment._

He dissatisfied people so much more _now_ than when he had at 20. Apparently the older he became the less acceptable it was, being… _him_. Being _Ollie_ because he had no other play left to make. It was becoming a sad legacy.

Lastly – not the least by far – he’d been rejected by Laurel. It wasn’t exactly a standard ‘I reject any and all advances from this man’ rejection but it had still affected him.

And now Thea had just totalled her new $110, 000 car. With her in it.

Her response was to start an eye roll – stopping when that made her wince - before slumping listlessly into her pillows. “I _wasn’t_ thinking.” As if to say ‘ _duh’_ , but the genuine upset in her tone and the bitter twist to her mouth told him otherwise. Told him there was more to the story. “Drunk; remember?”

Sardonic tone or not; he refused to rise to her bait. “ _Thea_.”

She looked at him and he stilled; instinctively knowing that whatever she was about to say would instantly top the list of bad moments this week.

Honestly, the only highlight in the last 7 days had been Felicity.

Felicity Smoak; his IT guru and hacker extraordinaire.

She was… she was _Felicity_. A… a person. She was a _person_.

It would sound odd to say that to another human being but… when he’d first returned, Oliver didn’t see humans as individuals.

He saw them as targets.

Marks.

His loved ones were threats.

Ways to hurt or injure him. Threats to his new system; dangers that he couldn’t trust. Love. But not trust. Was it any wonder why he was failing with Laurel?

But then, one week after his homecoming, he’d walked into Felicity’s office, just like _she’d_ walked into his father’s old office close to three years prior, and had taken his breath away again for a small moment.

She worked as a computer science consultant in Queen Consolidated’s IT department and, if her skills as a hacker, cracker and master code worker were any indication – not to mention her master’s degree from MIT – she was severely underpaid.

Her office – dimly lit yet her desk was brightly decorated with odds and ends that he would never have thought of buying but seemed to fit her perfectly – had been small. It was his first thought on entering it.

But then she’d looked at him – luminous blue eyes blinking behind red-rimmed spectacles - and any thoughts of cramped spaces making him want to escape, of disappointed parents, or failed romances, of lectures and death and violence, melted away. As if brushed under a rug for a blissful moment. But only for a moment…

Felicity was a naturally bright person; but it wasn’t simply the clothes she wore or the easy smile she pulled or her general ‘foot in mouth humour’. It was internal. An intrinsic goodness, a quality absent in most people. In everyone he already knew and had since met; none of them possessed this natural light that she had in spades.

She’d made him _smile_. _Honestly_ smile, because he had something to smile about, when he hadn’t smiled – genuinely – in years. Both when he’d seen her as he’d hid behind a row of cabinets when he was 24 years old and now at 27. What was more…

The moment he’d looked at her, he’d known – somehow – that he could place his absolute trust in her. And that wasn’t something he understood. It was abnormal, to be able to trust in anyone, especially so swiftly. A lovely concept that was simply that; a concept.

But Felicity made it reality.

In a world like his, it was an attractive quality – too attractive to let go of after experiencing it first-hand.

So he’d brought her into his life, into his night work, the following week.

And she brought the light in with her.

Not for a second did he regret his choice, knowing that he could protect her. Knowing that, at the end of a hard day, she’d be right there; an honest breath of fresh air who didn’t judge him. Who had never tried to comment on his less than stellar behaviour with those he cared for, hadn’t attempted to lecture him for starting an affair with Laurel – she was a genius investigator so he should have known better than to think she wouldn’t find out – and had never, not once, considered him a murderer.

Even Diggle had.

 _She_ hadn’t.

It made a difference.

She’d become a true friend, not just his ally. A bright spot in the dark.

Before he’d left for the hospital, it had taken a glance from him – a wordless question – for her to immediately destroy any and all possible evidence that might lead to an arrest being made on Thea; any evidence stipulating that Thea’s minor concussion wasn’t due to an errant dog in the road, one owned by a neighbour a few miles away from the Mansion. It was the story they’d gone with.

Yet now, in the hospital…

“What is it?” It wasn’t even a whisper; a gentle response to the sadness – and anger - in Thea’s face. But it was also 2am and he wasn’t interested in playing games with his kid sister. “Why, Thea?” He stressed again, still quiet.

 _Why drink then drive?_ For attention? It seemed so cliché and below her to deliberately cause anxiety in a family who’d already lost so much. You could say his return gave something back to them but it would be a lie; he’d returned broken.

As if his words suddenly brought down the flimsiest of walls she’d erected around herself since her crash, her face fell; transforming into something miserable. But still angry.

“I saw mom.” She forced out.

He blinked. “Okay?”

Grinding her teeth - like she thought he was deliberately being cute – she finished. “She was with Malcolm Merlyn. They were _kissing_!” She added, when he’d opened his mouth again to reiterate his above comment.

He froze. It rendered him mute.

“I saw them together.” In earnest, Thea looked like she wanted to cry. “They were… _touching_ each other. A-and…”

And it had sent her understandably off the deep end.

A slow seep was the only way to truly describe the heavy _something_ that was dropping gradually into his gut.

_Tommy’s dad… mom…_

His eyes slipped shut, knowing he’d just let his sister see _everything_ on his face and feeling a little sick because… _no_. It was beyond belief; beyond understanding.

 _Mr Merlyn_. The man was his best friend’s father and yet he’d done nothing but make his son feel like he’d never be good enough, like he’d never choose him-

_Then what am I doing? Letting Laurel cheat on him with me._

Unable to form any rational response, Oliver left Thea’s room - escaping from the hospital – and she let him, in silent understanding.

He ended up at the mansion to confront his mother, to tell her he knew about the _liaison_ , to ask her the same question he’d asked Thea.

“Why? Why mom?” Head shaking, he walked closer to the one who had soothed him so well prior to his shipwreck and begged her with his eyes to make it all okay. To tell him something he could work with. “ _Malcolm Merlyn_?”

Why anyone at all, when she already has a husband-

 _-Like how Laurel has both me_ and _Tommy? Because she can’t decide? Because… neither of us are good enough?_

Instead of soothing his fears, Moira Queen added to them. “This isn’t a new development Oliver,” she said, like he was a child and should have known better. “During my first marriage, Robert also sought the touch of another. Only _I_ was faithful. But eventually, even _my_ will weakened.” She finished in a way she probably considered as calming.

Oliver’s mind was a blank: his dad had cheated on his mom… _like I’d cheated on Laurel_. He’d known that his father wasn’t perfect but, he hadn’t known this, hadn’t needed to know this. It wasn’t a side to the man he’d needed confirming, especially not now.

His hands coming up to drag across his cheeks to the back of his neck, Oliver looked at the woman who gave birth to him, horrified.

 _This_ was the Queen legacy?

“You’re cheating on Walter.” He muttered: her eyes were so insistent and imploring. “With Tommy’s father.”

“I know.”

Again, “Why?” _Help me understand._

But his mothered just sighed. “Sometimes you just need someone Oliver. Malcolm and I… we have a history that you weren’t part of. You shouldn’t interfere; my choices, however they’re seen, are mine to make.”

There was an unpleasant symmetry he didn’t want to acknowledge; he and Laurel were sleeping together behind Tommy’s back, whilst Tommy’s father was in deep with his own mother behind Walter Steele’s back. He knew she and his stepfather were having problems but… not to this extent.

History repeats itself. _And I’m no different from my parents_.

It was the first time he’d thought that to be a failing.

And now he recognised the feeling that had sat in his stomach since Thea’s revelation: shame. For himself. For Thea. For his parents… _we’re all a piece of work_.

He left then. Wanted to be far away from his mother, from the fact that he was a Queen. Just for a little while. But inevitably he called Laurel – someone he was sure could make him feel some semblance of relief; he needed that, needed to hear the voice of someone who didn’t just think he was destined to be just like his parents - but she didn’t answer. Her phone wasn’t switched off so he knew she’d still be awake, even given the time. She kept odd hours, especially on a Saturday evening with no work to get up for in the morning.

Pulling up across the street he pulled off his helmet, glancing up at her apartment window as he stepped off his bike and stilled. Didn’t move. Couldn’t; he felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

Laurel was locked in an embrace with Tommy.

 _Embrace_ was putting it mildly.

He just stared at them; his face an emotionless portrait.

They were both naked; seen rutting half against the window and the wall through the partially open curtains – probably thinking that the early hours gave them privacy.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much it hurt; he could only watch…

Watch as Laurel’s hands racked through Tommy’s dark hair before dragging down his neck and shoulders, her mouth open in what – he recognised – was a long moan. Watch as Tommy flexed into her, _slowly_. Repeatedly. Watch her curled toes press into the wall, adding friction. Watch how Tommy didn’t touch, paw at her or royally fuck her brains out. Watch how he simply rested his chin on her collarbone; totally blissed-out in the sensations amazing sex brought a man. Watch how Laurel’s mouth form a name – _Tommy_ – in the little frantic way Oliver knew she did when she was close…

Watch as Tommy’s eyes opened, lifting his head to take her in, seeing him lost in her; even from a distance Oliver could see adoration there. Watched as he pressed her high enough up the pane of glass that his straining backside was on display, watched him shudder with the weight of his deep penetrations. Watched her eyes slip open before they kissed; their tongues down each other’s throats as Tommy began to move _faster_ -

 _No more._ Oliver’s eyes shut tight.

_Please._

Turning away, he bit down on the awful sound that almost escaped – tasting blood. He couldn’t watch any more.

He felt sick.

It finally hit home: the reality of his life.

He should have felt betrayed, but there was no curl of rage setting fire to his insides. It felt more like resignation – a little anger at himself thrown into the mix –and then his brain started providing miserable pieces of information.

She hadn’t planned a date with Tommy tonight, which meant _he’d_ gone to _her_. She was supposed to alternate her nights… but she’d still let him in anyway _. How many times has she let him in before tonight?_

He wanted to laugh at himself and he did, but it came out more of a choked moan than just brushing lint off his shoulder.

He’d always known she was seeing other people… but Oliver _hadn’t_ been.

“I’m an idiot.” He whispered to nothing.

It felt… real.

Seeing them together felt real in a way that nothing else had since his return… and it broke something inside him. Broke one of the walls he’d built to protect himself. Broke the smattering of hope he’d developed; the hope that he could one day have more. That someone would one day look at him the way Tommy had looked at Laurel just then. That he would find a home in a person rather than in cold bricks and mortar. That someone would love him enough to be available when he called them. That he would one day be part of a whole, rather than a spare.

It was killing him.

Red eyed and grasping at the tiny thread that held him in place, he stepped back on his bike and drove. Just drove. Away. With no destination in mind, he was hell bent on putting up distance between him and them… but the further he ran the closer those images became.

He ended up at the Foundry.

Emotionally wounded and so tired of being this broken - into tiny pieces - human, he simply beat it all away. Beat the hell out of his training dummy until his fingers were bruised and his knuckles were bleeding. Until all he could feel was numbness; a cold layer around his centre.

For, when empty, the Foundry was cold to the bone too. If only he could be just as dead; then it wouldn’t hurt as much. Five years wouldn’t still be biting at his heels like hounds from hell. It was a form of misery; the only time in his life when he didn’t feel this way was when he was in the Foundry planning his next hunt and taking names off the list. When he was killing people.

Purpose turned all else about him into white noise.

But now his surroundings, his memories were screaming in his ears and behind his eyes. So he continued to move, to break, to tear…

He’d known that the relationship between his parents hadn’t been perfect, but he hadn’t even considered that either would have an affair. If that made him naïve, he didn’t care.  They were his _parents_.

That he could now relate to them in a way that disturbed him deeply, was another sensation he hadn’t wanted. In many ways, the relationship his dad had with his mum emulated the relationship he now had with Laurel. A never ending cycle. Had he not gone on the Gambit, would this have happened to them too? Would they have gotten married, have had children… before inevitably straying?

All if him wanted to say ‘no’. But all of him also knew that ‘yes’ was more probable. There was something missing between him and Laurel that even love couldn’t fix; he wasn’t idiot enough to believe they were this perfect pair. They had problems a mile long; problems exacerbated by his return, problems with names and faces and feelings, problems that had memories… And no matter how much he wanted to heal the bitterness, the regret, he knew that sometimes it just wasn’t possible.

And he knew that you couldn’t bring back to life feelings that were never present in the first place.

What he now had with Laurel… it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He wanted more.

And the worst of it was the reminder.

That he _couldn’t_ have more.

The reminder that this was the life he was destined to have. A life where he settles over and over again for what he feels he deserves rather than something he wants. Needs.

_Maybe I don’t get to have what I want._

So why was he still hoping?

Why, with each punch – every jab, kick, blow and exertion - did he still pray for _something_.

Why did he still wish that his mother would look at him – and all his limitations - with pride instead of displeased expectance? Why did he want Thea to feel like she could go to him with her problems – even though he knew he was terminally unavailable – and look at him the way she used to; like he hung the moon? Why did he want Tommy to see him as more the murderer he’d told him he saw him as? Why did he need Laurel to just say that she forgives him, that she can _see_ him – see that he isn’t Ollie anymore – and know him the way he’d allowed himself to think she did? Why did he pray that she – and by extension, her father – would think that he was good enough, to _be_ good to?

Why was it that when he thought of being in love, the image presented was never of Laurel?

Even though he loved her and wanted the best for her, wanted the best for them? Yet his head… didn’t. Instead it formed a very different picture; a blurred one, but even then the sweat on his back and the blood speckling his fingers couldn’t blemish its meaning.

It was a fantasy.

Maybe it was blurred because it would never happen. He’d never understood the picture, because it was just a dream.

So why was he trying so hard?

 

* * *

 

 

_Oliver…_

He could barely feel his body… but then he _could_ and he ached. He’d overdone it. Again.

_Oliver._

He wasn’t quite sure if he were sitting or lying down but at some point he’d slept. Worn to the bone, he’d finally succumbed to a fitful doze.

_I don’t… remember…_

No… he remembered staggering over to the nearest semi-flat surface and falling into it with a grunt, unaware of the passing of time from night to day. Lost in his thoughts, it hadn’t taken long before his memory faded into black. _What time was it?_

_…Oliver._

The cool air against his fingers stung, raising goose-bumps on a chest long since dried of sweat and his eyes rolled behind his lids.

_Oliver?_

The muscles in his brow flinched.

He wasn’t alone.

Someone was there with him…somewhere in his mind he recognised that walk, her scent…

A stir of air was his only indication of how close she was until he heard her take a breath, until soft fingers brushed feather light across his knuckles. At his open cuts.

It made him jolt to consciousness, fully awake, blinking at her as she stood there blinking back. The look on her face… she was surprised – how being startled could appear so _light_ he didn’t know – and more than a little understanding.

 _Too_ understanding for his comfort. A little too kind. Still… he let out a breath.

It made him realise he was glad she was there; his thoughts had been screaming in his head for most of the night and it returned to him, how much he hadn’t wanted to be by himself.

She wore concern like a second skin as her eyes flickered over his face. “How bad was your night?”

Succinct and to the point as usual. As _always_. But she was gentle too; with her tone and her touch – a touch that lingered over hands that hadn’t moved. With that small smile meant just for him. _Also_ , as always.

He found himself starting to smile back; it was self-deprecating, but it was a smile nonetheless. He was surprised he’d done it anyway. That he’d found humour in a humourless situation.

Or maybe it was simply because Felicity was there.

Eyes closing again, his head rolled back on the chair he was reclined in. He didn’t reply except to sigh and knew that she understood for that to mean absolutely yes: really bad night.

There was a moment of a silence before she spoke again, carefully. “You’re all… sweaty.” Or _not_ so carefully.

His lips twitched slightly.

“Okay.” He murmured.

“You’re all sweaty… on my chair.”

He opened his eyes again at that, immediately looking to the monitor to his right. _I must have stumbled over here after…_ after exhausting himself.

Eyes flickering back to the blonde standing over him, he winced at the ‘ _you know you’re cleaning that, right_ ’ expression on her face. But then she softened, “ _that_ bad, huh?”

Her eyes told _his_ story and his own flickered down, away.

“Want to talk about it?”

Letting out a long breath, he shook his head slowly; pressing his lips together. He couldn’t; not with her. It wouldn’t be right, would it? Even if he wanted to; even if he knew she was the only one he probably could tell anything to-

“I’m a good listener. I have a good eye too; I just saw Laurel outside of Verdant.”

His gaze shot back to hers–eyes focused _steel_ – and she blinked so fast he’d call it recoil. “Did she come inside?” He asked, very aware how low his voice was – how gruff his tone – and not much caring.

“No.” Pressing her lips together, Felicity looked at him. _Really_ looked at him. It was a few seconds before she bit down on her lip with a feather light blink before glancing down, to his bruised hands then away and he knew then that she’d figured out the general gist on his night. To Felicity Smoak he was an open book. Which he couldn’t allow. Shouldn’t have allowed…

But he had. He _did_. And he didn’t know why. Worse? He didn’t know _how_.

It always made him look at her.

With a shallow exhale, she placed her bag down beside him. Except to straighten; he hadn’t gotten up off her chair – and it _was_ her chair. Her place. _Hers_. “I think she wanted to.” She finally answered. “She stood there for a few minutes just… staring up at the place but then she got a call.” Felicity shrugged. “Ergo; no Miss Lance.”

Feeling entirely too exposed as he stared at her, Oliver’s mouth opened then closed. Then opened again.“Right.”

“It’s not working anymore is it?”

A gush of air left him; like she’d sucker punched him, going in for the kill. On all levels he 100% appreciated it, having zero energy to spare to explain. “ _No_.” It came out like a bark and he looked away from her again. Exposed. Unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

When she spoke, her voice – soothing and quiet – echoed lightly about them. “Yes you do.”

His eyes closed.

“That’s why it’s so hard.”

Settling back again – like his entire being had sighed – he whispered. “Why can’t it ever just be easy?”

“The things that matter rarely are Oliver.”

_Oliver._

He was Oliver Queen.

And Oliver Queen… was a man with a mission, was a different person. A new person. A person who didn’t _need_ any of this.

_The things that matter rarely are Oliver…_

What mattered, then? The affair? Or… the resounding thought in his head telling him to end it, this thing between him and Laurel. Forever. Before one of them irrevocably hurt the other.

Though he was about to move, he stilled when Felicity moved her hand over his and stroked down along his forearm. As always, the hairs there rose.

“We need to see to those cuts.” She muttered, moving away towards the cabinets.

Rising finally from her seat he shuffled somewhat over to the medical table. “I can do it.”

“When was the last time you allowed someone to look after you?”

The question tore holes in his armour; chinks he couldn’t tolerate right now. Swallowing he looked at her. Her brows were arched, in-between reaching for gauze and grabbing the antiseptic wipes.

Preferring not to speak, he just nodded in acquiescence. _Just this once_. He’d allow it.

Just one more time.

Until the _next_ time.

Watching her gather the kit from his lean against the metal table, the most selfish thought he’d ever had stuck firmly in his head, behind his eyes. Under his skin. Eyes fixed on her form as she walked over to him; he thought words without voicing them.

_Don’t leave. Don’t ever leave._

But she wasn’t looking at his face so he shuttered his stare to all the tempting realities and enjoyed the relaxing sensation… of… being looked after. A first.

“I’m getting us coffee after this. And bagels.” She said under her breath.

_Please don’t leave me._

 

* * *

 

 

Dig had been his second new addition – after Felicity - to their now three man team.

John Diggle: army veteran with two tours down in Iraq and more than ten years worth of combat experience under his belt. It made his advice pretty irrefutable.

Except in _this_ case.

“Let me guess; you got exactly what you asked for but discovered it wasn’t anywhere close to what you _really_ wanted, right?”

Oliver bit down on the retort that had rushed to the surface; he’d made the mistake of opening his mouth at the wrong time.

“Not _exactly_.” He ground out.

Digg nodded at him – _uh huh_. “Then what, _exactly_?”

His friend – for John Diggle had assuredly become one of the most loyal, trustworthy and capable person Oliver had ever had the privilege of obtaining – wasn’t actually aiming for sarcasm. He was _demanding_ truth. Demanding that Oliver sort himself out before his personal issues put him in danger in the field.

 _Digg’s right;_ of course he was. Oliver couldn’t afford to take Laurel, Tommy, his mother, his sister – the list grows – with him as he cuts down the hidden criminal underworld of Starling City. And on a normal day, he didn’t. Wouldn’t. But John had caught him when his guard was low to the floor; after Felicity and her little touches, her affecting smiles and tender care. An opening of ‘you look like crap, man’ and suddenly Oliver hadn’t been able to keep shut.

_“I just… I saw Laurel. With Tommy. And…”_

_“And it hurt?”_

_“…Yeah.”_

_“Didn’t she tell you that-”_

_“I knew about it already Digg.”_

_“Okay. Then why now? You didn’t have a problem with it before.”_

_“I don’t have a problem with it_ now _. Not really.”_

_“Keep telling yourself that; maybe it’ll stick.”_

_“Look, the arrangement I made with Laurel-”_

_“That right there; ‘arrangement’. How could you call caring about another person an ‘arrangement’? In fact, how did you think you could just ignore your feelings like that? Sex is great Oliver but without those pesky emotions you like to bury, it’s just that. Just another roll in the hay.”_

_“I know.”_

_“What changed? If I’d said this a few weeks ago you’d have bitten my head off.”_

_“Just… stuff.”_

Stuff.

And how old was he this year?

But against Diggle, a man whose life experience didn’t just pertain to the battlefield, Oliver – in many ways – was made to feel a little like a child. A little inferior.

But he _wasn’t_ a child. And no matter how wise John may be he also hadn’t experienced all the things Oliver had in his life.

“Just that,” Oliver began; finally answering the question, “I’ve started seeing things differently. What I need as opposed to what I might have wanted… and vice versa.”

“Hmph.”Digg harrumphed. “About time, if you ask me.”

Arching a brow, Oliver sent Digg a _look_. “I didn’t ask you.”

The man paused in his twirling of an Escrima stick to take him in.

“And I haven’t made a decision.” Oliver continued; flexing and rotating his own combat sticks over his head an under his arms. “On anything. Not yet.”

“Why not? If the answer’s hitting you in the face, then why not Oliver?”

 _This_ was why he never talked to Diggle about anything Laurel related; he wasn’t ready to hear Digg’s truths, wasn’t ready to face decisions that might make him miserable – decisions that will leave him alone once again – and inevitably, hear what part of his mind was already screaming at him. “I’m not sure I’m ready to give it up yet.” Give _her_ up yet. Give up the feeling of being part of something that wasn’t a mission he’d taken up from his father.

And Diggle understood, hearing all the words Oliver couldn’t birth. Not yet. The fact that Oliver was, _maybe_ , on the way to shedding even a little of his emotional baggage allowed John to remain silent, simply nodding. “Alright.”

Oliver sighed. “Alright.”

Then he blocked and parried as John pressed his attack. No longer in the mood to play, Oliver’s swift execution of a move that snapped both sticks from Diggle’s hands ended it in seconds.

Standing there, weapon-less; John blinked at him. “We done?”

Oliver shrugged. “Lost my motivation.”

“About that,” not really a segue to end all segues but Oliver already knew where Diggle was heading, “have you thought about what I said the other day?”

Deliberately playing the obtuse card, Oliver said. “Which part?” Knowing he was antagonising him, he waited for Dig to say what was really on his mind and the subsequent frown on what had been a frown-less face since he’d strolled into the Foundry, told him he’d succeeded.

“You _know_ which. It’s a good idea Oliver.” John explained, advancing a step. “We can still target the people on the list but-”

“I could be doing so much good in this city?” Brow arched against Dig’s confusion, he nodded. “I already talked about it with Felicity.”

Of course Diggle would want more than that vague response.“And?”

“ _And_ I’m open to it.” He admitted, in a rushed breath.

It was John’s turn to blink. “Oh.” Then he seemed to realise something; the expression on his face twisting into something analogous to incredulity. “Wait, that’s it?”

“What’s it?”

 _Felicity_. Her shoes had initially given her away but Oliver and Diggle were gentlemanly enough to give her the impression of anonymity. Her brows were raised at Dig.

The man pointed at Oliver as she walked by. “ _Him_. I lay into him about this for over an hour on Friday and he didn’t budge an inch. Now, he’s all over it.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m all over it.” Oliver muttered – almost a grumble - as he placed his combat sticks on their holders.

Walking over to her computer monitors he saw Felicity play with her phone out of the corner of his eye. Her answer was absent minded. “Yeah, we were talking about it this morning.”

“For how long?” Dig demanded.

Oliver’s head tilted. “Ten minutes?” He offered.

He swore John’s jaw almost unlocked. _This is actually a little fun._ “ _Ten_?”

“Kind of.”She said with one foot shoeless, her toes scratching an itch on the back of her calf. “There was blackmail involved; the kind with cream cheese and bagels.”

Keeping a nonchalant expression was actually a testament to Oliver’s intensely focused nature as he watched Diggle’s face crumble into utter disbelief. “And coffee.” He reminded her, suddenly very aware of the colour of her outfit and how yellow open toed heels shouldn’t make her feet look that delicate, or make her painted toe nails stand out so much against the simplistic bodice of her office dress…

Her responding smile was a mix of ‘ _hmm coffee ’_ and’ _don’t think I didn’t hear those little ‘this is so yummy’ sounds you made when you bit into your cinnamon bagel with raw salmon and poached egg’._ “And coffee.”

For a moment, John took her in. “You must have been pretty convincing.”

It was stated completely without hidden meaning – more like happy surprise – and, thankfully, it was taken as such. Felicity was so inside her own mind that she only nodded without looking away from her phone.

Dig huffed a laugh, turning away to reach for his bottle of water.

But Oliver… he looked at Felicity, remembering their morning. Remembering how she’d charmed him into that second bagel. _Charmed_. He didn’t know he could be charmed. Before the island he’d made charming people an art form in douche-baggery. After… he used his natural charisma to obtain information. Never would he allow himself to _be_ charmed.

He hadn’t known how to explain to her that his eating habits were, at best, odd. Bagels? With cream cheese and raw salmon on one, poached egg and ham on the other? He’d never had that _before_ the island, never mind now. But she’d insisted, _‘it’s worth it Oliver – trust me’_ , and he’d tasted... and had inhaled every morsel. Delicious. Perfect; exactly what he’d needed after a long night in pummelling motionless dummies all wearing faces from his past –laurel’s face and Tommy’s popped up from time to time –and thinking the whole time that he’d been correct in his initial belief.

The Hood didn’t _do_ relationships… he shouldn’t do relationships of any kind.

Couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Tried to anyway.

He _shouldn’t_ have started a not-so-clandestine-mutually-beneficial _thing_ with Laurel. He shouldn’t have avoided Tommy after his friend discovered he was the vigilante. He shouldn’t have brought in…

No.

No matter what he thought, no matter what may happen in one day or in one year from this moment… he wouldn’t regret bringing Felicity Smoak into his purpose. Wouldn’t regret telling John Diggle about the list. Couldn’t – _won’t_ – take back how much he enjoyed being around them.

Trust. Loyalty. Companionship. Respect.

Facets he hadn’t thought he was capable of generating but had found that he’d wanted to with them. And received it in return.

And he didn’t think he’d receive light. Didn’t think the world owed him anything at all.

But it had still granted him with Felicity Smoak.

Nourishment for life.

But Oliver had a thought as he watched Felicity sit in her seat – he’d thoroughly cleaned it as she’d gone for coffee – that he didn’t just want to be fed strength. He wanted to give it too; to give something back. To be needed just as much… just as much as he needed her.

This was a precipice he didn’t quite understand. One he’d pushed away often these past months. But it resonated as he stood there.

And… he wondered. Like a child dreaming dreams.

 

* * *

 

 

Breathlessly satisfied, Laurel fell to his side; a blissful smile on her face and a red flush bloomed on her skin.

Lying next to her – now – on the bed, he stared.

She was _oblivious_. Having obviously had the time of her life, she’d completely missed how subpar it had been for _him_.

Having experienced the most underwhelming orgasm of his life with a woman who he’d wanted a real relationship with, he had no idea how to feel about it beyond stunned.

In fact… _Jesus_.

Thinking of Laurel hadn’t quite cut it this time.

He’d sensed the problem from the start. So, he’d taken care of _her_ first, hoping her pleasure would move him to a similar place. It hadn’t. Like a douse of freezing water, all he could see was her and Tommy together. His mother and Malcolm, _together_. Thea in the hospital. Dig in his face. When they’d started having sex, she’d wanted control – wanted him to enjoy himself the way she had after three ground-moving orgasms – and had found her way on top. Riding him had helped him rise to the occasion, so to speak… but it still hadn’t been enough, not for _satisfaction_.

And he’d been worried about her noticing that.

He shouldn’t have bothered.

At the time, mind reeling and hating this, he’d mentally searched for something –past sexual activities, women he’d unravelled into wanton messes – to enable him to join Laurel in her high; as her face reddened, as she’d sweated and shouted ‘yes’.

Right at the crux, unsure he was actually going to make it at all; his thoughts had fallen on something they really fucking _shouldn’t_ have… and felt his body _respond_. Stunningly hard. Had heard Laurel moan with it.

As the image began to recede, he’d pulled it back; holding onto it furiously, feeling a second surge, and his hips reacted in kind, stabbing upwards. His pulse suddenly pounding in his ears as his mind became a blur of anything but that image. Laurel’s face, her scent, her voice… it was drowned out by a siren call he hadn’t known existed inside him.

 _That_ shot through him, down from internal muscles and straight to his groin.

He’d come so fast the sound that escaped him hadn’t been a moan of pleasure but a garbled shout.

Inevitably, Laurel had considered that a win on her part and had continued to grind on him until _she_ was done. Again. And he’d simply lain there, letting her; too stunned to say a word.

What the hell could he say?

Though the image had done the job, an image can only do so much. He wasn’t breathless, wasn’t sweating, didn’t feel the need to curl around her now… he was staring at Laurel. But he didn’t _feel_ it: the gratification of an orgasm with a woman he had feelings for.

And this had happened before.

Actually, for a couple of weeks now, there had been more than one occasion where Oliver just hadn’t _felt_ it. Not the way he should have. But it - climaxing - had never been so difficult to achieve before. And instead of viewing his rendezvous with Laurel as a thrilling, clandestine engagement between two people who cared about each other, it made him view it like one of the many lays he’d had before leaving on the Queen’s Gambit.

Yes, he knew what the problem was; he’d known at the core that what they were doing had to stop, that it wasn’t doing anything for him… unlike what it was doing for her. Like it was setting her free of her inhibitions. Like being with both he and Tommy for months had allowed her to learn more about herself…

_I hope she likes what she sees._

But seeing is believing. Seeing Tommy and Laurel together the other night had made something in him die. He’d felt it do just that, like a piece of his heart had just dropped off.

He hadn’t realised that what had died, was the hold his past had on him. Was he motivation, his drive. His want for _more_.

From Laurel.

It was an epiphany he wasn’t sure he wanted right then, not whilst he was in bed with her. Yet it was undeniable. He loved Laurel… but it wasn’t enough. It never had been. And it seemed he just needed to be with her one last time to understand that. _I’m an asshole._

Didn’t change the truth.

Frowning, he watched her for a minute longer, wondering if she’d even noticed the change in him and also wondering – if she hadn’t – _why_ she hadn’t.

Closing his eyes for just a moment, he let his mind wander back to simpler times. Before it had all gone wrong. When a smile from him made Laurel blush. When a touch from her satisfied his… no. Her touch had never fully sated his need for more. It was why he’d strayed.

_I live too much in my own history._

How could he ever move forward if all his choices now were based on decisions made when he was a feckless and immature 20 year old? How could he make good on his promise to honour his father if he was being trapped in an endless cycle of his own making?

Breathing out through his nose, Oliver opened his eyes once more to see Laurel lightly dozing –between consciousness and sleep – and slipped away. Pushing off the blanket he stood from the bed, taking off the condom and tying it before throwing it in the trash as he moved. Reaching for his boxers and sliding them on, one thought reverberated.

_This was a mistake._

The past 3 months had been one giant mistake. Three months for Oliver to understand that the foundation of love should never be regret.

There was rustling from behind him as he stepped into his jeans.

“Ollie?” _Laurel_. She sounded debauched and so very young. “Where are you going? You don’t have to leave right away…”

Chest heaving with the weight of his exhale, Oliver glanced over his shoulder as he fastened his belt. “Yes, I do.”

She didn’t get it. “Really, Ollie,” there was the smile he used to want to see; all lust and affection, only now it made the disturbing feeling in his stomach – this bitter realisation – so much worse to bear. They would never be on the same page. “I’m not expected anywhere. _You’re_ not expected anywhere. You aren’t needed at the club and it isn’t like you’ll ever be caught leaving QC,” spoken in jest – with laughter – he was surprised at how much her well-meant derision hurt.

Still he didn’t say anything. He just shrugged on his jumper, crouching down to pick up his wallet and it wasn’t until the jingle of his keys made her aware that he was leaving that she broke the tenuous silence.

“Wait… you’re _actually_ leaving.” There was an edge to her tone now; a mixture of worry and irritation. “Now? You’re leaving _now_?” As if she couldn’t believe him.

Standing there, his eyes left the keys in his hand and flickered to where she’d wrapped herself under the covers. She was sitting up, frowning at him.

He exhaled. “Yeah. I’m leaving.” _I’m done_.

“Why?” It was spoken quietly. “I thought we could…” the sentence trailed off.

His brows rose of their own accord. “You thought we could what?”

She blinked. “I just-”

“Cuddle?” He asked, perfectly calmly, seeing her eyes flicker down. _Exactly._ “You’ve never wanted to do that with me before. You never stayed with me.” This was the first time he’d voluntarily decided to leave first.

And she didn’t like it. He could see it and it threw him a little.

“I’ve always loved it when you hold me.” She whispered.

“But you never _let_ me.” He shook his head, wondering about her and the how’s, the why’s, the when’s and the what’s of her thoughts. “It was always ‘wham bam, thank you ma’am’.” Her flinch told him she actually understood that too. _Yet she still…_ “It was why you started seeing Tommy.”

Those eyes that had been almost pleading with him, widened. “That was never why.”

 _How many reasons could she have to not choose me?_ “Okay.” He waited for her too explain, to say something that might entreat him to stay right where he was, even though most of him was already out of the door.

And waited.

Until…

“It’s different with Tommy.” She admitted. Thankfully, he was passed feeling hurt at the soft quality to her voice when she spoke of his best friend. _She doesn’t even hear herself, does she?_ “It feels different.”

“Do you let him hold you?”

Her caught her swallow and knew the answer before she said. “Sometimes.”

He nodded. “Which is why you never needed me to hold you.”

“I need you for other things.”

“For multiple orgasms.”There was no saving his tone of voice, telling her how little he thought of this and if she didn’t look shocked before, she definitely did now. “I know.”

“Don’t demean what we have, Ollie.” It almost touched him; the emotion in her eyes and the need in her voice.

Grabbing his coat, his looked over at her. “And what do we have?” _God, just tell me._ At this point he didn’t care what the answer was, as long as she answered. For once.

“We love each other.”

A bark of laughter left him – harsh and short lived – but he couldn’t help it. She thought this was love? _Are you fucking kidding me?_

Was he the only one who wanted more?

The uncharacteristic shot of absurd hilarity only heightened at the flicker of hurt on her face. “Laurel.” He muttered. And his smile was utterly without happiness. “I saw you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t-”

“The other night,” he interrupted, softly. “I saw you with Tommy.”

For a moment she just stared at him.

So he continued. “It was late. Or really early depending on how you see it.” Channelling Felicity was actually kind of helpful; it detracted from the burning malaise in his gut. “You both must have thought so, because it was private enough to be fucking against your window.”

Her mouth opened, closed. Her eyes started to water. She looked in _pain_. But why?

And then she asked the most audacious question she could have asked. “Why were you there?”

“Are you serious?” He breathed. “That’s your question?” _Out of everything?_ Looking at her, he couldn’t understand how he’d missed it.

Her _addiction_.

Because that’s exactly what this was with her; her inability to make a choice and to stick with it.

Licking his lips – his mouth dry – he grated out, “I needed you.” Her eyes flashed back to his and, _Jesus_ , there was hope there. “My sister got into a car accident and-”

“Oh my God,” Laurel breathed, shuffling forwards on the mattress and momentarily forgetting the _goddamn_ point. ”Is she alright?”

“She’s fine.” _You would have known if you’d even tried to talk to me_. “That isn’t the point here. And it isn’t the worse of what happened either.”

“What happened?” She asked, gently; reaching out to him with a hand. “You can tell me.”

For a moment, Oliver felt utterly sad for her. And for himself. “No.” He insisted, still quiet. “I can’t.” _You took that away from me._ And it took him even longer to realise she’d never given it to him in the first place; that space of unconditional love that he could – should have – been able to fall into and disappear for a while. “Just like you couldn’t tell me that you love two different men.”

She didn’t – couldn’t – say a word.

“I needed someone too.” He reiterated. “You weren’t available. Luckily for you, you had more than one man who was more than willing to keep you company.”

 _And you chose Tommy_.

The words underlined his sentence.

He wasn’t surprised to find her speaking before he’d finished. “That isn’t fair; you _agreed_ to this. Just sex; no strings.”

“I did.” He _had_ agreed, lonely as he was. “Didn’t you ever wonder why? That maybe I’d been so accepting of you sleeping with my best friend, for a reason?” He offered, because he just wanted… “That maybe I was hoping you’d make a choice- that you’d choose me.” Not that she did; her reaction to his suggestion almost a week ago told him everything about her. “Instead you just… didn’t think about me at all.”

“I think about you every day.”

A bitter sound left him and he turned away from her. “ _Don’t_.”

“Ollie.”

He shook his head, his hands lifting to drag down his face.

“Ollie, please.”

Sighing, he simply stood there. Again, waiting. All he ever did was wait for Laurel. Wait for her to forgive him. Wait for her to want him. Wait for her to choose him. Wait for her to love him… wait for her to speak.

“I do love you.” He heard her take a breath that rattled. “But I also love Tommy. I don’t know how to let you in because once I do, that’s it. And I love you both so much. You were gone but Tommy was right there. Then you came back and… I don’t know what to do.” Her voice shook. “I’ve tried so hard to decide but I don’t know what to do.”

“You should have tried harder.” It was hypocritical, he knew that. But he also knew that she needed to understand just how selfish she’d been. How selfish they’d _both_ been. “You should have talked to me, to Tommy, instead of screwing us both.”

“Don’t pin all the blame on me Oliver.” _Oliver_. She only ever used his true name when she was agitated. It was something else he realised he hated. “You said it yourself; you couldn’t do relationships. I didn’t understand why at the time, I still don’t. And you were more than ready to make sex our entire affiliation.”

Voice low, he turned back to face her. “I had my reasons for not pursuing a relationship with you.”

“And those were?” She demanded, an eyebrow arched. “Did you ever think that maybe I went to Tommy _because_ you didn’t want that?”

But _,_ hadn’t she also accepted this arrangement too? Without question, if he recalled correctly. She’d never once implied that she’d even remotely cared for his reasons. “So, you thought cheating on Tommy was the best answer?” The furrow between his brows told her exactly what he thought of that.

“I started sleeping with you first Ollie. Not Tommy.” Her voice dropped to an almost whisper. “ _We_ were first.”

 _And that makes it all better?_ “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Do you actually think that _matters_?”

“Look.” She forced out, attempting a bright smile and a brighter outlook. She was failing if the tear that spilled down was any indication. “This thing I have with Tommy isn’t serious. We go on a few dates here and there,” she was trying to laugh it off – trying to convince him - but he could see it in her desperate expression; she knew she was losing him, “yes, we sleep together but… Ollie, it’s always been you.”

_Fuck._

What was she saying to him? A flash of that moment 3 nights prior, of the expression on Tommy’s face, of the way she’d wrapped herself around him… of how _good_ they’d looked together. How right.

“Me and you.” She continued, not seeing that it was aversive disbelief that had silenced him. Not love or the hope for more. “It’s always been us-”

“Stop.”

“Ollie, I-”

“Stop talking!”

It was a shout. He’d shouted. At laurel.

And she did. She stopped, blinking tears as her smile crumpled into nothing.

“I can’t…” He breathed, feeling like everything was on a slant and he was falling in the opposite direction. “How could you be so insulting? I don’t understand, you,” he continued, talking over whatever excuse she’d been about utter, “you’re saying you’ve just been using him? Using Tommy?” _All this time._

He didn’t question why the offense he felt was far greater for Tommy than himself, why the wound in his heart was more painful for his best friend… and he didn’t, couldn’t, remain on the thought that he’d betrayed his best friend too.

‘Bro’s before hoe’s’. That’s what they’d said to each other. Him and Tommy. Even with the way he’d been, before the island he’d have never considered doing this to him.

_What have I done?_

“N-no, it isn’t-”

“Laurel, that’s exactly what it sounds like.” He looked at her like he didn’t know her anymore. And he didn’t. Maybe he never had. “I’ll take my fair share of the blame. But I am not the one who thought it a good idea to sleep with two different men because one of those men didn’t give you everything you wanted all at once. I didn’t expect you to wait for me.” He added, lower now. “I just wanted you to _talk_ to me, but you stopped doing that. You turned to Tommy instead.” She’d said she loved him, yet, was capable of sharing that love with another man as she did. Even if he didn’t deserve it, he wanted more than that. “He _loves_ you.” Tommy who was devoted. “He loves you in a way I can’t. And you’ve just thrown that away on mediocre sex. Let’s face it; that’s _all_ we are.”

“Mediocre sex?”Voice hushed and wobbling, her gulp was visible. “What we _just_ did,” hand flashing around her at crinkled sheets, she sounded slightly hysterical, “you think _that_ was mediocre?” It was obvious _she_ really hadn’t thought so.

He understood this too: he’d been deliberately attentive to her. And though he’d prefer to say that some part of him had understood that this was the last time and that he’d just wanted to give her something to remember him by, it had come from a place of panic. He’d been trying to reach that precipice with her and it had been a struggle he wanted very much to forget. Because it had taken thinking about something he shouldn’t have touched.

_It makes me scum._

But… it was honest. And for once he wanted to be true to his feelings.

Inhaling, he took a second before responding. “For me.” He didn’t want to go into detail, especially at the devastated look on her face. What else do they have, if not sex? “It was for me. And you didn’t notice.” _You didn’t see me._ Had that been that too much for him to ask of her? “You _never_ notice.”

With the life that he lives, did he deserve more than what he’d settled for?

“It wasn’t good for you?” When Laurel focused, she _focused_. “Why the lies? Why did you return to me, over and over again if it was so bad?”

“It wasn’t always bad.” He stated in a whisper. “But recently… I’ve wanted more.” Watching her, he spoke sentences with his eyes that she’d never been able to read, had never had a hope of reading. “You didn’t. You wanted _everything_ , just not with me.”

Her head was shaking side to side but it looked like he’d chased her words away.

She’d never appeared so ruptured to him. Yet he’d also never wanted to hold her _less_. All those times he’d wanted to hug her close and now the very idea made him feel… not good.

So he walked away, needing to leave, for this to be over and done with.

It was toxic. And for once he wanted _clean_. He wanted _right_. He wanted _good_.

It wasn’t until he got passed her couch when she shouted out.

“Ollie!”

No. _I can’t._ Not this time.

He didn’t pause and was at her apartment door when he heard her, her footsteps. Feeling dread lace his stomach, his hand was on the doorknob when he glanced left. _Christ_.

She stood; completely naked and uncaring that she was, in the doorway to her bedroom. _Laurel._ He couldn’t do this with her.

“Ollie, please don’t leave.” Eyes glittering she took a step towards him. “I can’t let this go. I can’t let _you_ go.”

He was already gone. “Laurel, please put some clothes on.”

“I’ll talk to Tommy. I’ll tell him I can’t be with him.”

It was pulling down at him; this, him, her. He wanted it to end. Not continue. “ _Laurel_.” He mumbled behind his hand as he wiped at his jaw.

“I want to be with you Ollie.” She took another step before almost running at him. “You’re the love of my life. We can be together; it _should_ be us.”

Looking at her, he wondered if he could; if he could take it all back and be with her. And together they’d tell Tommy. _Together_ they’d deal with the consequences. Together they’d try to build a relationship…

But they’d never been together. And they didn’t trust each other. If they had, if they _did_ , he’d have told her about him being the vigilante. _She’d_ have seen through his guise. She’d just told him that he was the love of her life; then she should have trusted him to _stay_.

She hadn’t… and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that, even though he loved her, she wasn’t the love of _his_ life. Their love wasn’t enough – he wasn’t the same man she’d fallen for. She wasn’t the resolving thought in his mind; she wasn’t the one he couldn’t wait to see every day.

_Oh my god…_

Firmly but gently, he grabbed the wrists of the hands she’d used to tug him into her body. He knew that urge. But again; it was all about sex. Run-of-the-mill sex. It didn’t matter what she said; they were poison together. He’d been living this lie and hating every second but swallowing his feelings down whenever he saw her. And she never noticed; she’d simply been glorying in having it all just as she denied the truth.

How could that even work?

Without saying a word, he turned away leaving her standing there. Her tears turned to sobs, turned to ‘wait, please’ and ‘Ollie, don’t do this’ and ‘I’m sorry’.

He didn’t look back, didn’t touch her except to let go of her… he just _left_. Closing the door quietly behind him.

Closing the door on _them_.

Balling his hands, he took a deep shuddering breath and began to walk away, down the corridor, ignoring any small urge to turn back and give comfort. This was a goodbye after all.

They needed to tell Tommy. He deserved that much. But later. They’d do it later.

…Never before had leaving someone hurt _so good_.


End file.
